


Days of Worship

by nbarker1990



Category: The Voice (US) RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 17:41:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7448179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nbarker1990/pseuds/nbarker1990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not that you don’t trust her (everything within you screams that you’ll never find anybody as trustworthy as Gwen is), but that you don’t trust life to give you this joy without eventually ripping it away from you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Days of Worship

_It’s not that you don’t trust_ her _(everything within you screams that you’ll never find anybody as trustworthy as Gwen is), but that you don’t trust life to give you this joy without eventually ripping it away from you._

_And there is joy, so much of it that you’re tempted to start praying like Gwen does, if only so you can thank Him for what your life has become this past year._

_You figure, though, that He probably knows that you’re grateful. Instead, you worship only her._

_You worship her..._

 

**… with your eyes**

Nothing’s actually changed since yesterday, Gwen knows that, but it’s like straight out admitting the truth to everyone has loosened some kind of knot inside of her. Pharrell tells her that he’s so pleased she finally ‘got out’ and even though that phrase makes something in her heart want to shrivel up and die (it was a marriage, a sacred thing, and that was supposed to be a blessing, not a prison), she knows that he says it out of love. And she’s not in a position to turn love down, not after this latest blow.

 

“Gwen,” a soft voice says, interrupting her thoughts. It’s Blake, of course. The ‘of course’ of it all is something that’s had her thinking the past week, just because it’s so bizarre that she even knows him, let alone has struck up something of a real friendship with the man. Before she’d started The Voice, there had been quips from everyone about how weird it would be even seeing them in the same building. Because opposites, apparently. She’s learned, though, that he makes her laugh more than almost anyone in the whole entire world, and that means more than any superficial differences between them. “You in there?” He taps her head lightly and she turns in her chair, swivelling her legs up and under her in one smooth motion.

“Just about.”

“You need a break yet?”

The basis of their friendship might be proximity, a shared sense of humor, and a love of eighties music (seriously, his game is impressive), but it’s his _care_ for her that has her occasionally wanting to just throw herself into his arms and insist on staying there until the bad feelings disappear.

 

“Good call on Elisa, by the way.”

“Thanks,” she says, ducking her head slightly, because she doesn’t have a problem accepting compliments, but they’re always something of a surprise to her. Blake always seem to know when it’s time to turn the conversation in a certain direction, and she’s profoundly grateful for the way he’s so intuitive when it comes to her. Adam always mocks his friend for his insensitivity and dumbness, but she thinks maybe even Blake himself underrates his intelligence, especially emotionally.

“Can we talk?”

Gwen stares blankly then, because, uh, what are they doing if not talking?

His smile is barely noticeable, a small upward tilt of the lips. His eyes, though, tell a story, one she wants to hear over and over again. The first time Jen had met Blake, she’d swooned a little over those eyes, had received a fond pinch from Todd after raving about how blue and intense they were. Gwen had agreed, though not verbally. Gavin had been in the room too, and why the fuck would she give him another reason to be upset and cold with her, after all?

“We are,” she eventually says. “I mean, I thought we were. Weren’t we? Aren’t we?”

His eyes warm then. It’s really the only word for it, the way the blue becomes bluer and his expression softens. She finds herself searching for something else in his look, maybe approval? She hates herself for that, really. Finding self-worth and validation in a man is a surefire way to destroy yourself, she understands that now. But Blake…

 

Sometimes he’s looking at her like she’s the best thing he’s ever seen. 

They’re both going through the most awful kind of divorces right now and she knows that maybe it’s just because she’s been a shoulder to lean on (she’d seen him cry for the first time yesterday and it had been an almost spiritually bonding experience), but on the good days she chooses to believe that he might just like her as much as she likes him.

 

 

**… with your hands**

She’d discovered a weakness for trashy romance novels sometime after the third time she’d broken up with Gavin. Reading had never been particularly easy for her, but one hundred pages of flirting, sex and a happy ending? It had been like comfort eating but without the necessity of burning off the calories in the gym afterwards.

Songwriting’s a gift, she knows that, but while her own style allows her to evoke strong emotions by the choice of certain words, romance novels had given her a taste of the ability to make the smallest of moments big.

The moment Blake first holds her hand (not just a brief grip to lead her somewhere or to hold up in victory) feels _big_ in that way, momentous even.

 

They’re sitting in her trailer after filming ends one evening, just sharing a packet of M&Ms and a bottle of wine, when he has the temerity to ask her what nobody has so far. “What took so long?” It’s what everyone’s thinking, of course; she saw it in Sophie’s eyes the moment she broke down over Skype and admitted that she was hiding out at her parents’ home and didn’t know what to do next.

At first, she finds herself thinking it’s none of his business, like why the fuck does he even expect her to tell him something like that. Maybe something in her face communicates her horror to him (she knows her forehead can get all scrunchy when she’s upset), because he smiles gently, apologizes.

"I didn’t mean to - I just wondered, y’know. I had my suspicions for awhile but the second I knew the truth, I was out of there. You stayed, though. A lot, right?”

“I _loved_ him.”

“You think I didn’t love Ran?” he asks, and his laugh is a bitter shell of the one she knows so well and she _despises_ the sound. “I worshiped her, thought I was the luckiest man in the world.”

“It makes you doubt everything, right? I had eventually kind of just accepted the whole groupie thing, I guess. Because guys will be guys, and when he was home, he was mine. I knew he loved me, after all.”

“But the nanny - ”

“And Ro - ” She stops herself. Blake’s not the ‘public’ but some things need to stay completely private. “Boyfriends, too, he finally admitted. For years. At first I was going to try and work on it, y’know. We’d been through the whole counseling thing before and it sort of helped. I thought that maybe - ”

 

“It never changes.”

“No,” Gwen admits. “It doesn’t. He can’t.”

“He wouldn’t,” Blake insists, reaching for her hand like it’s normal for them, like she’s not almost shaking like a leaf and on the verge on tears again. “The fault lies with him. I know you know that.” His fingers are long and thick and it’s almost awkward, the way they twine with hers. It’s new and so she finds herself untangling the hold so she can find a better match. When she does, the moment their palms line up and she squeezes, she hears a sharp intake of breath from Blake. He’s staring at her, mouth slightly open, and she finds herself staring back.

“I know I deserve more.”

 

He squeezes her hand back. “You deserve everything.”

 

**… with your mouth**

“You’re so dumb!” she squeals at him, fisting his shirt and pushing him back into the chair. “Sit down, you idiot, before you fall over. Just watch.”

She presses play on her iPhone (sighs when the music starts because god, she loves this song), demonstrates the steps again, more slowly this time.

“Got it?”

“Kind of distracted by your rockin’ bod,” he admits, finishing off the last of the vodka in the cup they’ve been sharing. “More, please.”

“More bod?” she asks, and yeah, maybe she’s flirting but so what, she’s ALLOWED now. She can do whatever the fuck she wants and if sometimes she wants Blake, well, she’s ALLOWED. “Or more dance?” A slight thrust of the hips. Her colleague is a little slack-jawed, a lot tipsy, and apparently horny too, judging by the way he’s shifting uncomfortably on the couch.

“Both,” he admits, his drawl thicker than she’s ever heard it, almost undecipherable. Before she can retort and tell him she’s off limits, he’s standing right in front of her. He’s so tall and so big and -  Oh. Oh my god.

 

“Your hands are on my ass.”

“Both,” he reiterates, and she’s pretty sure (she’s remembering why she doesn’t drink much now) he means the dancing and the body thing, not that both his hands are touching her. Which they are.

“Here for your dancing lesson, Mr. Shelton?”

“If you’re teaching, I am.”

 

Another song starts, slower this time, and she wonders momentarily if fate could be this perfect after fucking her over for so long. Her head only comes up to his chest (she took her shoes off hours ago) and if she looks up at him for too long, she’ll probably get a crook in her neck. It makes her laugh, the thought, and then he’s laughing too. 

“I’m pretty shit, I know,” he admits with a grin that’s as attractive as it is wolfish.

“You are,” Gwen acknowledges, winding her arms around his waist. “I was laughing at something else, though. You’re tall.”

“And apparently you’re observant.”

“Did Miranda ever get sick of you being so tall? Like I think I’d get a sore neck or something, y’know.”

His face darkens then, his eyes shutter, and she hates herself because of course she had to ruin everything, ruin everything with dumb words and dumb thoughts and dumb - “Hey,” he says, tilting her face up to meet his. “Hey, Gwen. Stop. It’s fine. You didn’t do nuthin’ wrong. I just - Dance with me, okay? I don’t want to think about her.”

 

And so they dance. It’s not much of an actual dance, she finds herself realizing as the minutes go by, more swaying and touching than anything else. The moment she finds herself undoing his top button is when she realizes where this could go. The worst (best?) thing is that it doesn’t stop her, the knowledge that she could have sex right here, right now, and nobody else would ever be any wiser.

“Gwen…” The way he says her name isn’t a prelude to conversation, but it is a question and maybe a demand too.

His lips meet hers softly at first, and she knew, she just _knew_ it would be like this. It’s not what she wants, though, and so she kisses him back (one quick press of the lips, barely a touch) before shoving him towards the couch again. She needs him under her, needs to be on him, to show him that she’s not some delicate flower, that she doesn’t want his sympathy or his affection.

“Wha - ”

“We don’t need to fuck tonight or anything, but I do need more than _that_ , Blake.” She tugs at his hair, yanks his head back and sucks at the pulse point in his neck. “Way more.”

 

Later she’ll describe the kiss to Jen as good, as satisfying. That doesn’t come close to describing it, though. Once she’s told him what she wants, it’s like some kind of leash has been removed from him. He lets her sit on his lap and initiate the next kiss, but then his hands are on her ass, pressing her down onto his hardening cock, and his tongue is greedy and demanding, tangling with hers in an imitation of what that dance _could’ve_ been had they been sober and trying. 

It feels right. Nothing about it is perfect (he bites her lip too hard at one point, and she knows he’s not comfortable when she tries to unbutton his shirt further) and that’s alright as well. This might be the only time they get to do this and she’s determined to make the most of it, hickeys, bruised lips and a lack of orgasm be damned.

 

She can deal with the latter when she sinks - on her own - into her own comfortable bed later in the night, after all. She wonders what it’ll be like, coming with another man’s name on her lips. 

 

**… with your body**

The text isn’t unexpected but the moment it comes through, she still finds herself reacting like a freaking teenage girl, all excitement and anticipation. The boys have been back with Gavin for a day now (and she HATES that he gets him so often when he was the fuck-up who wrecked their family in the first place) and so the chance to see Blake is the only bright spot in her weekend.

“ _be there in 10_ ,” she replies. Then she adds a winky-face emoji because, again, teenage girl. Her life is shitty enough that she lets herself have those little comforts, small moments where she can just have fun and be silly again. Blake enables that and even encourages it in a way Gavin never had.

 

She doesn’t even get the chance to knock on his door before he’s coming out to greet her, picking her up and literally swinging her around until she feels dizzy. “I missed you,” he murmurs into her neck and she thinks that he probably didn’t intend to say it, because she can feel the moment he realizes the words were said, his whole body stiffening as he pulls away from her. 

Taking a deep breath, she looks up at him. “Missed you too, cowboy.”

His entire face relaxes just a little at that, and thank god. Let her have this one good thing in her life, please. After they’ve entered his home (she finds herself wondering where the _character_ is in it, before remembering it’s just a barely used rental), Gwen anticipates the typical “Want to see the house?” question or even the “Want something to eat or drink?” but the earnest, slightly disbelieving “Really?” is another matter altogether.

“Of course,” she says, chuckling almost nervously. He’s a comfortable person, Blake is, genuine and real and with the ability to make every last person feel good about themselves. Right now, though, she’s a little on edge, and she thinks it might have to do with the way that her brain is just telling her to fucking kiss him already.

 

He kisses her first, his “I’m sorry” lost in the sound of her moan when his tongue finally touches hers. It’s been too long and that’s a ludicrous thought but christ, he kisses her like…

“Please,” she finds herself begging him after several minutes of making out against his wall, clawing at his shirt with her nails and rubbing herself against his crotch shamelessly. “Please, Blake, please.”

He walks her up to his room, standing right behind her and occasionally stopping them against another identical white wall, her breath hitching as he presses his lips to the back of her neck and gently sucks on the expanse of pale skin there.

 

His bed is large and unmade and large and white and large, and that’s all she wants right now, a place, any place, where they can finally be one, be together. Shirts and pants are quickly discarded (she flushes when he exposes her breasts for the first time, taking time to admire them with his eyes and his roughened fingertips), and she can tell he’s feeling awkward but that his need is winning out. They’ve talked about their respective insecurities and she knows better than to do or say anything to call attention to the fact that he’s literally bared himself for her. 

Pushing him down onto the bed, she lets herself admire his chest for a second, the way it’s so broad and dusted with gray hairs. His nipples are pink and, lord, would he mind if she just -

“Gwen…” he growls, hand on her hip as he pulls her down on top of him. “I need you so bad right now.” Resting between his long, strong legs, she runs a hand through his curls, loving the way they’re slightly damp to touch. His cock is hard against her and she can’t stop herself from rubbing against him, needing friction, needing something to take the edge off. “Gonna be too quick,” he groans, apology in every word.

“Don’t care.”

“Not yet, dammit. Let me - ”

“Later,” she insists, stroking him and enjoying the way he strains against her. So hot. So damned hot. “We have all night. I’m ready, okay, I’m ready.” She can feel his tip at her entrance, groans as he thrusts against her. “Oh fuck…” The moment his cock finally enters her in one long, deep thrust, she reflects later, is the moment she decides that this might be one of the best decisions she’s ever made.

“So wet, oh my god, Gwen. You’re so - How the fuck are you so perfect, and - ”

 

She swallows his words with a clumsy kiss, finds herself struggling for breath as he starts moving in her, finding the right rhythm ridiculously quickly. As they had in all ways, she supposes, from friendship to whatever the hell they're muddling their way towards now. There’s no need to be quiet in this large, almost-empty house, she knows, and so she doesn’t try and hold back her whimpers and groans as he brings her to the edge. “I, I don’t think I - ”

He smothers her broken, gasping words with a kiss.

“Blake…”

His eyes are half-glazed but the moment she feels herself starting to crest, they find their focus, the intense blue like some kind of perfect mirror to how she’s feeling as she tightens around him, crying out his name and several expletives as she orgasms.

He follows her, unable to slow down, his control weakening and his thrusts becoming jerkier, faster, before he finally comes, emptying himself into her before collapsing on top of her and then rolling to the side. She’s still trying to get her breathing under her control, the sex leaving her feeling crazy vulnerable (the first time with someone over Gavin, she tells herself, not sure how she feels about _that_ ), when he pulls the covers over them both.

 

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he whispers into her neck. “But thank you.”


End file.
